


Evening Grace

by MarieQuiteContrarie (SeaStar1330)



Series: Morning Glory [2]
Category: Anyelle - Fandom, Macelle - Fandom, Once Upon a Time (TV), The Tournament (2009)
Genre: A Monthly Rumbelling, Alternate Universe, Anyelle, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Macelle - Freeform, May Day Menagerie, Sexy Times, Storybrooke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-09
Updated: 2017-09-09
Packaged: 2018-12-25 14:10:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12037536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeaStar1330/pseuds/MarieQuiteContrarie
Summary: Joseph and Belle settle into life as a married couple, which means ice cream and sexy times.





	Evening Grace

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rowofstars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rowofstars/gifts).



> A short follow-up to Morning Glory, my Macelle fic for May Day Menagerie, which may be read first, but this fic can stand on its own. It's basically porn with plot.
> 
> A little birthday present for the wonderful rowofstars. Happy birthday, darling! 
> 
> Thanks to stillsearching47 for your help!

_Arise, my love, my beautiful one,_  
_and come away,_  
_for behold, the winter is past;_  
_the rain is over and gone.  
_ _Song of Solomon_

“Good evening, Joseph.”

He turns away from the sinkful of sundae dishes and milkshake glasses he’s washing behind the soda fountain, pivoting toward the counter with an eager smile. He knows the gentle lilt of that sweet voice as well as his own. “Belle.”

“Hey.” She slides onto her usual stool and props her elbows on top of the polished marble, an upgrade from the red tile countertop since he bought the store.

“Can I get ya somethin’?” he asks. “A snack before supper?” He wipes his soapy hands on a rag and gestures toward the ice cream case.

The burnished rays of the late afternoon sun highlight her auburn curls with streaks of fire as she shakes her head. “No, thank you,” she says primly. “I’m waiting for my husband.”

“Aye, he’ll be along in a wee while. After Thursday night cleanup.” He winks, going along with their little game even as his hands start to sweat and his heart pounds with anticipation. The concept of being wanted is still a foreign one, but he’s growing more accustomed to it every day. To the simple pleasures of playing with his wife.

“Can I help you with anything?” she asks, scooting forward on the stool.

He offers another breezy smile, more bravado than confidence. This too, is part of the game. “Thanks, but no. You head on home.”

Admiring blue eyes rake over his work shirt and jeans to linger below his belt. “Shall I have supper waiting?”

“Nah.” Another half smile, another shake of his head as he shines a spoon. “We can make it together.” He walks around the counter and grasps her elbow, her bones fine yet strong beneath the press of his fingers, and escorts her to the front door.

Belle grabs his shirt and pulls him close for a scorching kiss; the slide of her tongue and the scrape of her teeth against his lips is hot with promise. “Don’t be long, hmmm?” 

“Night, Joseph, night Belle. See you tomorrow.” Dr. Clark’s amused voice carries from the pharmacy at the back of the store. He slips out of his white lab coat and dons a red baseball cap, heading for the side door with a knowing grin.

Joseph’s cheeks flame at being caught kissing Belle in the store, but he supposes Clark, who he hired to run the pharmacy when he and Belle took ownership of Storybrooke Soda and Sundries, is used to their newlywed antics by now. _Necking._ His face burns even hotter as the loathsome word flits through his brain. That’s what they called kissing in seminary when the brothers taught them about carnal sin and avoiding temptation. Never did he dream he’d be standing on the other side of the cloth, in a shop of his own, as a married man. Living a life where making love to his wife is anything _but_ sinful.

 _His store_. Joseph’s chest puffs with accomplished pride. Former owner Bedelia Blumenthal is gone—has been for more than five months—and with her the sadness and stagnancy which once permeated the air in the store. He can now work where and when he pleases, hire anyone he wishes, and with the soda fountain the heart of the store, Storybrooke’s only drugstore has become a place for little league baseball teams to come for celebratory cones, for dating couples to share giant sundaes, and schools to host fundraising events. It’s a community gathering spot now, much like Granny’s. Joseph wouldn’t have it any other way.

At his side Belle laughs, low and throaty, and the sound reverberates in his groin, calling him home. It’s time to lock up the store and follow her there, but he can’t resist lingering in the doorway to admire the soft sway of her hips as she ambles down the street, her bright red heels clicking against the pavement.

Forty-five minutes later, he opens the door to Belle’s—to _their_ —flat above the Storybrooke Library and parks his bicycle in the hallway. It hadn’t been a loss to leave his one-room domicile with the creaky Murphy bed behind when he’d married Belle. After a honeymoon weekend Portland, they’d come home and transferred his little vegetable garden to a sweet patch of grass behind the library. He remembers her laughing eyes and dirt-streaked cheeks as she tenderly patted the plants into the rich earth; he hadn‘t thought it was possible to be any more in love with her than he’d been that day, but as minutes of their life tick by and melt into months, he finds every moment with Belle to be sweeter than the last. Shucking his jacket and flinging it in the direction of the recliner, he rushes through the living room on enthusiastic feet, heading straight to the bedroom. He glimpses his reflection in the mirror above the couch, the smile on his lips a blurry curve.

The door to their room is ajar, the light from within casting a soft, welcoming pathway along the floorboards. Belle is lounging on the mussed bed when he enters, legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles. A thick novel rests in her open palms and the rumpled bedclothes drag on the floor, just as they did when they hurried off this morning. Her flimsy, transparent robe gapes open, treating him to a scintillating peek at milky white skin and rose-tipped breasts. She rises to her knees when she sees him, crawling toward the foot of the bed.

Straight to work she goes, eyes dancing with merriment as she starts to open his shirt, pausing to lick a nipple. The small bud stands at attention, his body knowing to whom it belongs. His answering groan is part shyness, part desire. Joseph looks down at his thin chest and his mind wanders to Merlin, who he once believed to be Belle’s lover. The ethereal glow of his skin, those dazzling white teeth, the ripple of muscles when he moved, every action denoting strength and grace. He sends a silent prayer heavenward that Merlin has moved on to another assignment because Joseph is no match for such a man. He chuckles to himself, at the foolish notion of competing with an angel, a messenger of God.

_Anyway, Belle has chosen and married him._

Her roving gaze lands on the small plastic bag dangling from his fingertips. “Did you bring the ice cream, Joseph?”

It’s their Thursday evening routine, a callback to her weekly visits to the store when he was a shy, lowly clerk and she an ice cream-obsessed customer.  Both the library and the store close early Thursday evenings, and Belle seeks him out on her way home, her flirtation giving him a taste of what’s to come, a lover’s sonnet that carries him home.

He lifts the bag and pulls out a carton. “Need you ask? A new flavor, blueberry vanilla graham. The cracker squares are like leather books, and the swirls of blueberries match your eyes.”

“Poetic and delicious.” Her voice is a husky tease, and he wonders if they’re still talking about ice cream as she sticks her tongue between her teeth and slips the rest of his shirt buttons through their eyelets. A long, elegant finger crooks, beckoning him. “Come to bed.”

He strips down to his boxer briefs while Belle dishes the ice cream into the bowls she has waiting on the nightstand. Joseph climbs into bed beside her and they trade bites and talk about their respective days. He can‘t help but stare, utterly enchanted by his wife, Belle’s hands waving animatedly as she tells him about five-year-old Grace Madden hopping to her feet in the middle of the children’s story hour.

“Oh, it was the funniest, cutest thing. I wish you could have seen her little face, all scrunched up. She stood up, hands on her hips, so indignant, and declared that she’d be slaying the dragon herself, thank you very much, and she doesn’t need some silly old knight in rusty armor to do it for her!” Belle clutches her stomach and laughs until tears run down her cheeks.

Bowl in hand, he shifts, turning onto his side to better admire his wife.

“What?” she asks, catching him watching her. She wipes an imaginary blob of ice cream from the corner of her mouth with the heel of her hand. “Still there?”

“No, here.” He flicks his spoon at her, and a dab of ice cream lands on her nose.

“Ooooh, I’ll get you for that,” she threatens, tackling him and pushing him onto his back. His head hits the pile of pillows and she tickles his ribs until he howls, breathless with laughter and begging for mercy.

She kisses him then, her blueberry-flavored mouth gliding over lips and teeth,  and the way she leans across his body causes her robe to open fully, baring her breasts to his view.

“Your breasts are like two fawns, twins of a gazelle,” he murmurs in wonder, circling one nipple with his thumb. “Behold you are beautiful; your eyes are like doves. Your lips are like a scarlet thread.”

“Mmmm, Song of Solomon.” She unknots the loosened sash at her waist and the robe slides from her shoulders and pools on the bed. Warm fingers tease at his waistband, drawing his underwear down his legs until they are both bare. On instinct, he tries to fold his arms over his lower body.

“Adam and his wife were both naked, and they felt no shame,” Belle reminds him, quoting from Genesis, then bends to kiss him again. 

Their mouths still fused, Belle tucks a lock of hair behind his ear. Joseph’s eyes burn with tears, the tender gesture making him feel cherished. Then she dips her hands into her bowl, sinking her fingers into the puddle of melted ice cream at the bottom. With a wicked grin, she trails a sticky path down his body, then paints his arousal with more of the cool, wet dessert.

His desire builds against the press of her small, soft hands, the contrast between her hot palms and the cold ice cream a delicious torment. Then she takes him into her mouth, swirling her tongue around the head of him, and licks him clean. He collapses against the mattress in surrender, whimpering as she sucks and pulls at his cock with her greedy mouth.

Joseph chances a glance down, his heart skittering at the sight of Belle’s mouth surrounding him. He closes his eyes against a wave of shame. It isn’t sinful—nothing about being with Belle is wrong—but years of celibacy have left their mark. It’s a twisted agony, but the longing for more supersedes any lingering fears. A groan tears from his throat, the heat between them swelling and rising. His wife’s ministrations are more intoxicating than the alcohol he used to drink, and twice as hard to resist.

“Enough,” he says at last, finding enough resolve to tug gently on her hair to draw her back up his body. No matter what pleasure Belle brings him, his greatest pleasure is always pleasing her. “Please, I want to come with you.”

“Yes.” She nods. “I want that, too.”

He splays his hands over her bottom, finding the curve where her rear meets the tops of her thighs and  massages her soft flesh. A light flick of his fingers against her ass cheeks makes her squirm with need, her nipples raking his chest like twin points of fire.

Yes, he is learning. Learning to play with his wife and learning how to pleasure her.

On their wedding night, the first time they made love, Joseph came within a few, shallow thrusts. Belle was the first woman he had ever been with, and the only woman he had every loved, and being inside her—the sweet clutch of her body—overwhelmed his senses. Afterward he apologized over and over, then curled into a ball of embarrassment, feeling like a fool. But then Belle took his hand and guided his trembling, uncertain fingers to her slick core, showing him how to stroke her with the pads of his fingers, the secret nub of flesh there begging to be caressed. The wonder of watching her fall apart that first time, mouth open and breath heaving, crying out his name, was a memory he would carry for the rest of his life. Tonight he wants her to climax when he’s inside her.

She arches above him to turn off the bedside reading lamp, her breasts dangling in his face. He looks at the quivering tip in his face and closes his mouth around it while his fingers roll its twin between thumb and forefinger. Her soft, encouraging moan sends lightening through his engorged cock and he jerks his hips, an involuntary invitation. She laughs, prolonging the sweet torture as she slides back down his body, letting him feel every inch of her soft skin.

“Belle,” he says, with more than a little desperation, and arches his hips again.

Naked, she rises above him, settling her bottom across his thighs, touching her slit with her fingers and showing him the moisture gathered there. Licking his lips, he leans forward, his mouth watering for a taste of her essence, but she sucks the digits between her own lips and cleans them with her tongue, the way she licked the ice cream off his cock.

“Will you taste me later, Joseph? Love me with your mouth?”

“Aye! I will, I can now.” He gasps the words, a hitch in his breath as he struggles against her slight weight, trying to flip her onto her back. The fever is beginning, heat spreading everywhere, making his limbs tingle. God in heaven, she is killing him!

“No,” she purrs, pressing her hands against his chest. “I want to wait until after, when you can taste yourself and me…the pleasure we make together. I love you, Joseph.”

“Love you, Belle.” He’s gulping for air now, watching her tease those gorgeous pink folds with his arousal.

She sinks down, a slow, easy glide, impaling herself on his body. Arousal drips from her center, meeting his heated flesh in a white-hot hiss. He twists his fingers into the sheets as Belle lowers herself, eyes closed, head thrown back in a low moan. Warmth and pressure and wetness envelope him until at last she settles against his root, their pubic bones grinding together.

“Is this good?” she asks, adjusting until they are both comfortable.

 _Good_ cannot begin to describe these sensations. Every rock and twist of her body sends tremors of pleasure through him until he thinks his heart will burst through his chest.

Bracing her hands on his stomach, she begins to ride him in earnest, rising and falling on his cock, her gorgeous breasts bouncing with every stroke.

“You’re glorious,” he breaths, in awe of her beauty.

“The view from up here is pretty great, too.”

He slams his eyes closed as she continues to rock against him, drawing herself up and down. “Ah!”

“You feel incredible inside me, Joseph. So thick and hot and _hard_.” Her voice deepens, rough and quivering with effort, her skin glowing with dew. “I love watching you come, seeing you fall apart beneath me.”

“Oh God, Belle.” He moans, his cock pulsing and his lungs burning. He grits his teeth hard, grinding them to keep from losing his head. He’s barely coherent around his wife when they’re sipping tea, and her ability to speak in complete sentences now is an absolute marvel.  “If you keep talkin’ that way…won’t…ah!...last!”

“Then don’t,” she urges, spurring him on as she quickens her movements. Her own hips begin to stutter, jerking as she loses her rhythm to the mounting pleasure.

He spreads his hand across her pelvis to steady her, then moves one hand down to where they are joined, his thumb teasing her swollen pearl and rubbing it hard and fast.

“Help me…oh please… _yes,_ ” Belle groans. Her hips spasm, her clear eyes going dark and feral, black pupils eating up the blue.

She falls forward across his chest, her channel clenching as she rides him harder, milking him. His body responds of its own accord, and he wraps his arms around her and thrusts up, sharp and hard until she wails. “Joseph! Joseph! Yes! Yes!”

Oh God, the sound of her cries drives him mad. _He only hopes he can…_

Joseph‘s teeth sink deeply into his lip, trying to hold off, but he’s drowning in the scent and feel of Belle and nothing can halt the rising tide. One more piercing thrust and he‘s done, his orgasm crashing over him like the sea at high tide. Wave after wave of ecstasy pours through him, and the hot pulse of his seed rushes into her body. “Belle!” He screams her name, shaking and sweating, his climax seeming to go on and on.

Belle collapses on top of him as he pants, her mouth hot against his neck as they both struggle for breath. A moment later she moans with discontent as he softens and slips out of her. Joseph winces, feeling a stab of guilt for failing to satisfy his wife.

“Ach, I’m so sorry, Belle.” He covers his face, ashamed. She’d been so close to the pinnacle and he’d ruined it. Again.

“Sorry for what?” she asks, brow furrowed in confusion.

“I didn’t make you come,” he mutters, turning toward the window where the sun has descended, glad of the sudden darkness as night settles over the bedroom. He cannot bear to see the banked disappointment in her gaze.

He feels the gentle press of her fingers against his chin, turning his head on the pillow so he’s facing her once more. He shuts his eyes against the kindness in hers; Belle is married to an callow dolt who can’t even get her off on his cock.

“Yes, yes, you did.”

“Eh?” He opens his eyes.

Her mouth is stretched in a lazy, contented smile, like a kitten drunk on cream.

“Really?” he asks, blushing fiercely. Correction: Belle is married to a callow dolt who doesn’t even know when he _has_ managed to get her off on his cock.

He searches her gaze, looking for what he’s not sure, but he finds it there, as he always does with his wife: Understanding. Reassurance. Love.

“You did.” She hovers above him, her hands cupping his cheeks, gliding into his hair. “And even if you hadn’t, it wouldn't matter. Joseph, I married you, not because of what you do or what you can give me, but because I love you. I love for who you are.”

Grace overwhelms him, God’s grace as well as Belle’s, and he is flooded with peace. “Oh, Belle. My bonny Belle. Whatever what I do without you?”

This time he succeeds in rolling Belle onto her back and he smiles through the kisses he presses to her cheeks, her neck, her collarbone, her stomach. His determined mouth charts a course down her body, licking a path of fire until he reaches her petal-soft flesh, soaked with their shared essence.

He sweeps his tongue along her slit and she whimpers, fisting her hands in his hair to keep him close. Sweetness better than any ice cream explodes on his tongue, and he glories in her moans as he licks and sucks.

Aye, it’s a beautiful way to spend a Thursday night.  

###

**Author's Note:**

> I'd love to know what you think.


End file.
